Black Balloon
by O2
Summary: They could only watch as for six years the eldest son of Chichi and Goku slowly went insane. But the gods have their own twisted way of fixing things. Two lives teetering on the edge of total chaos. When their paths meet, its either for better or worse.
1. From A Mother's View

A/N: Angst and Romance, what a combination. But it's more dark than the genre suggests. Depression seeks me, and it found me. Here's the result. Enjoy. My pain formed into an AU for your pleasure. Don't mind my sarcasm.  
  
Disclaimer: Someone invented heroine, and others make money off it. That isn't in any form what I'm doing here.  
  
She watched from the window, watched as her son slowly deteriorated. In all aspects his father was to blame. But she couldn't pin that on him, her husband, father of her children, and the man she loved. He'd given up his life; his soul, for his family, friends, and the world he loved. But for his family the most, she'd always understood that.  
  
He cared.  
  
But Gohan, her baby, her first born, didn't see it that way. He blamed his father for leaving, for not coming back when he had the chance. And he blamed himself for driving him away.  
  
He didn't though.  
  
He'd been told everyone makes mistakes. But it wasn't a mistake; it was for a just cause. Feeding the beast the misery, suffering, pain, anxiety and most of all the fear that he'd put all others through.  
  
True, he forgot. He forgot just how sly and cunning the beast was, striking like a serpent when he saw his chance.  
  
She stared at him again.  
  
Her baby, her Gohan, slowly going insane from guilt, sorrow, fear, and pain. For six agonizing years. Tears welled at her eyes. She felt pain; pain only a mother could feel for her child, feeling his hurt in her own heart. And pain of loosing another dear loved one.  
  
"Mommy!"  
  
She took a deep breath, hiding her previous thoughts, turning her attention to her youngest, and perhaps the only thing she had left.  
  
Gohan.  
  
Her baby, her son, her child, was dying from within. And what hurt the most, she couldn't do anything to make it stop. 


	2. Metalic Release

He pulled the knife from his jacket pocket, a thrill lighting his eyes at the glint it gave from the setting sun.  
  
His body trembled in anticipation, waiting for its demented release. He placed his wrist against the base of the knife, the one he'd taken from the kitchen.  
  
It came slowly, sliding across the skin, cutting as it did so. Warm, red liquid, blood red, streamed like a river down his arm, flowing to join the small pool on the grass.  
  
He stared with never ending fascination, a certain pleasure in his eyes.  
  
He'd hit a main blood vessel.  
  
He shivered, the enjoyment evident in his eyes.  
  
He stopped.  
  
The normal cold, uncaring look in the form of a scowl returning. He'd healed, the remnants of a scab showing. He growled unpleasantly, standing and thrusting half his arm into the cool clear water of the small, flowing river.  
  
The water tinted reddish orange as the water washed away his life's essence. He removed it, all traces of blood gone.  
  
He pulled his sleeve back down, taking his sneakered foot and soaking the ground where he was. The pool washed away, leaving the small patch tinted a soft red.  
  
He stared at it, burning it black with is stare.  
  
He thrust the knife in the river, the water tinting again then running clear before he pulled it out. It was stained darker than the former patch of grass.  
  
He glared at it, hatred showing in his eyes.  
  
Pain and pleasure.  
  
That's what it brought.  
  
Bring his hand back slightly, he through it into the river. He turned around, his overall spiked hair black like his eyes. Pale, light peach skin glistening in what was left of the sun.  
  
Like him.  
  
His tall frame was built of muscle; his over sized black shirt and sports jacket hiding all. Baggy black windbreaker pants helped hide his frame. The black Airs on his feet untied. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, taking a moment to look at the setting of the sun, then walked away. In confidence, and forever in deep though. 


	3. Mourn

A/N: Short, but I opted for faster updates. Enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: The moshpit is for all to enjoy. Never intended to be violent, but everything's capable of stretching the limits.  
  
The smell of everything breakfast pulled him from the last remnants of the dream world.  
  
His body craved food, but his will wouldn't allow it.  
  
He'd come to hate to eat.  
  
"GOHAN!"  
  
His usual demeanor returned, the coldness and cruelty manifest again at the start of a new day.  
  
"Gohan?"  
  
He'd come close to despising everything, including his brother.  
  
"Leave, brat."  
  
He could almost see the child wincing from under his blanket. He heard the gulp.  
  
"Mom wants you."  
  
He narrowed his stare at the blanket. He'd come to hate that woman as well. He heard the faint call from her. Growling loudly, causing his brother to scamper off, he threw his covers on the floor.  
  
Screw school.  
  
He had no desire for it, no will to do anything with his mind. He pulled the pants from the night on, bringing an over-sized burgundy shirt with the sign of death over his head. Leaning toward his nightstand, he grabbed his keys, spike-chained wallet, and his CD player.  
  
He made his way out the door slamming it behind him.  
  
He walked through the familiar halls, disgusted at the old pictures hanging. A reminder of what he did want to remember. He stuck his keys in his left pocket, checking the cash in his wallet and making a metal note to 'stop by' the bank later. He stuck that his other pocket, the chain hanging out.  
  
His left hand reached out to the wall, grabbing a picture by its frame as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He opened the closet door as he reached the kitchen, throwing the family portrait mercilessly inside.  
  
He turned, heading for the front door.  
  
"Gohan! Aren't you gonna..."  
  
The mother trailed off as her son slammed the heavy door in answer.  
  
"I hope he goes to school today."  
  
She was let alone, the sizzling of sausage the only thing keeping her from screaming. 


	4. Old Wound

A/N: It's longer than the previous.  
  
shadow wulf: None of the above. Hating makes you miserable, dying hurts others. To not care, hurts you more than others, but living for nothing but pain, with pain, perhaps it is better to die. But in the end, you find out it was mostly up to you.  
  
Disclaimer: Don own.  
  
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His coal black eyes stared smoothly at the sandwich in his hands.  
  
He sniffed it once, lifting the bread to see the in-between.  
  
Peanut butter and Jelly.  
  
His favorite.  
  
He turned it around in his hand, checking it from every angle.  
  
He smirked, a rumble from his gut demanding to be fed.  
  
He brought it to his mouth, opening for a moderate bite.  
  
He was no pig.  
  
The opening and slamming of the door let him no someone had come in.  
  
He lifted his head reluctantly, a grudging look on his face.  
  
The body disappeared into the dining room.  
  
Growling, he put his sandwich on the counter, walking after the intruder.  
  
"BOY! Why aren't you in school."  
  
The said man put his feet on the coffee table. Rapid heavy metal blaring from his headphones.  
  
"Didn't want to," came the low reply.  
  
"You smell like pot."  
  
Another growl escaped the Prince's throat.  
  
"So."  
  
"You may be Saiyan boy, but that stuff will eventually make you end up like your baka father."  
  
With narrowed eyes, Vegeta turned around and back to the kitchen.  
  
He never caught the dark look that was shot in his direction.  
  
Minutes passed and the Prince returned, leaving on the wall close to the couch.  
  
"Vegeta."  
  
He continued his stare.  
  
Gohan gave his own glare in return.  
  
"Never mention him to me or in my presence again."  
  
It was spat out with a hiss.  
  
Vegeta shrugged.  
  
"How long are you going to be here?"  
  
The demi-saiyan stared at him, having lost his glare.  
  
"Nightfall."  
  
The full-saiyan tapped his foot.  
  
Gohan removed his headphones from his ears.  
  
"When's she coming back?"  
  
"Nightfall."  
  
Vegeta uncrossed his arms.  
  
"What happens then."  
  
Gohan shrugged.  
  
"I'm not covering up for you boy."  
  
He turned again, the teen having returned to his music, and he made his way to his Gravity Chamber. 


	5. Reminder Of Self

A/N: Most of this was written in my math notebook after final exams. (Had a half hour to kill) So even though it's been about a month since I last updated 'Black Balloon' I haven't forgotten about it. Also a little something I should mention, here's the part of the story where it actually becomes a story. Instead of those small, almost poetic first four chapters that I have so far. It might be rough but enjoy anyways.

**To shadow wulf:** The worse the depression, the more you find yourself sinking in the quicksand of despair and sometimes, self-pity. But like in a dream, if you're strong enough, you can magically float and the icky stuff fades into nothing. And then you laugh at the little green man that speaks a language you understand, but can't translate. It's funny, he's funny, the end. But, you'll realize, it was all in your hands. Questions though. Do you really _want_  a comeback? Do you want someone to try to reach in and pull you out themselves? That's one thing that can't be avoided, that person with the open door to the bedroom that is your brain. All the light's seeping in. So, are _they _going to pull you out of the bed of depression? Are you going to let them?

Disclaimer: I own Bally. Nothing else. I don't own the school system either. If I did, you'd notice definite changes for the better.

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She entered the house quietly, her open-towed high heels softly tapping as each step made contact with the floor. Diamonds lining the sandal like high heels glittered and shone from the moonlight that flooded through the glass windows. Long, shapely legs of the female kind made light steps on titled floor. A small, sleeves-less, blood curdling velvet dress barely made it pass curving hips. Those same hips curved into an hourglass figure. One the sorry excuse for an evening dress clung to like a second skin. Not that the milky white on her arms, chest, neck, and face wasn't good enough. Not like she actually needed to glisten more in the evening light. Or was it early morning?

A crash was heard. Followed by a curse of the profane kind.

"Stupid… monkey…"

Another crash, only louder this time.

"VEGETA!"

The tumbling of feet was heard, and then a growl not of this earth. Fumbling against a wall, and then the click as light flooded through the room.

The man who'd been screamed for, stood slightly dazed in the doorway leading to another room. Clad only in boxers, his body was chiseled to perfection. Slightly tanned skin shone dully in the light, rippling with the slightest turn. His onyx eyes widened as if just coming back from the land of dreams. He stared at the woman whose limbs were sprawled all on the floor. Aqua hair piled elegantly on her crown, and angry baby-blue eyes looking pissed off in all their glory.

"Woman," his deep voice seemed to decapitate the fire in her blue pools somewhat, "How the…"

His eyes seemed to catch sight of her attire, for the hem of the dress was well above her hips, exposing the g-string she'd worn underneath. The light of the ceiling lamps in the living room gave a shine to her thighs. His eyes traced the body he knew every inch of. 

Stretch marks.

The only sign she had barren his children. 

He focused on the whole situation again. The pile of boxes she was sitting on and around, her, and the elegant living room so many guests had dinned in and commented on.

She opened her mouth; lips looking sweet and full, a pale pink gloss going with her natural skin color. He waited for the voice smooth as silk, but deadly to his eardrums.

Her sound never came; all he heard was the tumbling of small feet down the stares.

He growled, glaring at his mate.

Small padding went across tile, and finally the little figure stopped in the doorway, right beside him.

A gasp was heard, exactly as he'd expected. He waited, waited for the cute little comment that would melt the woman's heart to her lungs or make her burst into irrelevant fits of laughter. 

He could almost hear the fumbling of words in the child's mind.

"Um, mommy…"

Her voice was high-pitched, but cute as anything.

"Why is there so, much… of you?"

His eyes focused again on his woman just as she burst into the said fits of giggles. Leaving her daughter baffled at the outburst.

He looked down at the four-year-old that was such a mix of the two of them it baffled him sometimes.

Her thick black-blue hair went passed her shoulder blades, shaped into something all it's own. Her facial structure looked Korean sometimes, and her pale olive skin showed the Native American that was her grandmother's side. Black-brown eyes in the shape of almonds held his stare at different moments, though she didn't know the power she held with those eyes. Full lips of the purest red in the shape he'd been told was called 'sweetheart', puckered from time to time in thought and emotion. Her little frame held a pair of pj pants that were most likely her brother's; though it appeared she'd cuffed them, and a thin-strapped tank her mother or grandmother had bought. Both were purple.

He couldn't help but think of her poor twin, her brother, kid had gay hair.

"You'll be like that one day."

Wide eyes and an open mouth titled the head they were attached to, to look way up at him. Not minding his rough tone.

"But…"

He picked her up, swinging thirty-five pounds to lay over his shoulder, one bulky arm of his holding her in place. 

"There's not that much of me."

He gave a side-glance toward his mate, then turned around and walked away. Leaving her in more of a giggle fit.

"Ask your mother, just not now."

He didn't see the even more confused look the child on his shoulder gave the air.

The woman's eyes narrowed again, and a growl of her own came from her throat.

She dislodged the boxes from her body, and hoisted herself on her thin pointed heels. 

"Vegeta, when I said move the boxes from the attic, I did not say throw them in the living room!"

The furious clicking of heels was heard on the tile as she followed him through the doorway.

She entered the small kitchenette to find her daughter sitting on the counter by the sink while her husband filled two cups with warm milk.

The soft pink theme was a total contrast to her alone.

"Vegeta, she can't have cocoa at two in the morning, she'll be wired. She has her lessons tomorrow."

He only growled in reply.

The mother sighed.

"Bally baby, where's your brother?" she asked.

The little girl wrinkled her nose.

"His bed. When you yelled I went to wake him up. He told me if you scream then there's a slim chance he'd come down."

The blue beauty rolled her eyes. 

"You should be in bed."

The little girl wrinkled her nose again.

"I was, then you yelled at daddy."

The woman huffed. 

"Vegeta…"

She punctuated each syllable through her teeth. 

The smirk on his face didn't leave. 

Her gaze left him, knowing it was hopeless.

"Young Lady it is bed time."

The little girl blinked, her eyes wide in confusion.

Wasn't mommy yelling at _daddy_ just a few moments ago?

"Woman…"

Her fiery gaze glazed over to him. 

"My name is Bulma. Come on, say it with me. Bul-ma. BULMA! B, u, l, m, a. Bulma. Use it!"

His eyes glanced at his child.

He clenched his fists. Hissing through glenched teeth of his own.

"Bulma…"

"Oh my God, was that my name I heard."

She laid a manicured hand of pretty white nails on her chest, her eyes blinked several times in drama, and she tilted her body to the side. Her sarcasm was dripping, and so was her dress.

"WOMAN! Put something decent on!"

Her eyes looked down, the entire thing starting to come off. 

She growled.

"D…" her eyes wondered to her child, "_Dang_it! The pins are coming undone!"

She turned on a heel, her foot wobbling just the slightest.

"Bed. Now."

Clicking was heard as she walked away.

He grunted, not really caring what she said.

The child looked at him.

"Want some cocoa brat?"

She blinked, her mind debating between who could win in an argument. Her mother, or father?

She wrinkled her nose again. Her small mouth opened to form an answer.

The phone rang.

Startled, the black-blue haired girl jumped some foot into the air, and off the counter.

Her head banged on the chest that was her father. 

With one muscular arm he held her, keeping her from falling. 

She rubbed her forehead with a small hand, refusing to cry. Though tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. 

It rang again.

Both their ears heard the demand to pick up the phone from the mother.

The father growled, his hand glowing slightly.

He heard her threat.

Picking up the phone, he tried to not crush it in a fit of rage.

He hissed a 'hello' in an unwelcome tone.

A moment later his face fell slightly.

He dropped the phone on the counter, his mouth open for a scream.

"WOMAN!"

He heard the scrambling of heels against wooden stairs. He heard her body slamming against walls. He heard the scraping of heels against tile.

Her form slid haphazardly into the kitchenette.

The little girl stared with an open mouth at her mother. Her dress had been tightened back up, her hair slightly loosened though. As if it had been in the process of being undone. 

She stared at him.

"Vegeta this had better be a da..."

He cut her off abruptly with a quick thrust with his finger toward the phone.

Her face fell. 

She walked almost hesitantly toward the counter, reaching with her arms and gently sliding her daughter out of her husband's arms. The child's eyes expressed a sense of understanding and she squirmed in her mother's grasp.

Bulma held firm though.

She held the receiver to her ear; the cordless high-tech piece seemed to glimmer with malice at her.

"H- Hello?"

The dread was more than evident in her tone.

Her eyes closed in a pained expression as she listened. Her body went numb, dropping everything. The phone clattered to the ground and the child landed expertly on her feet. Her almost black eyes staring emotionlessly, her face showing compassion and pity.

He couldn't help but shutter. Her eyes, he nearly despised her eyes.


End file.
